When We Were Enemies: A Novel(101)
But I don’t.
“Go ahead.”
“All right,” he says, and then continues, labored, like he’s fighting off a muzzle. “I wanted to tell you to leave Hunter,” he says, uttering Hunter’s name like it’s a dirty word, his breath touching my cheek with each word, “and I want to go back in time to a place where I had a right to offer you all the things you deserve.” He scrutinizes me between each statement, his assessment feeling like a caress. “Do you really think I don’t dream of waking up next to you? It haunts me, that thought.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I melt at his tender touch. “My vows have never felt heavy. But now they’re like chains that keep me underwater when all I want to do is breathe you in—your mind and soul and, God curse me, your hair, your lips, your embrace . . .”
I bite my lower lip when he mentions them and then tilt toward him, our bodies practically touching.
“I’m sorry I haunt you,” I kid, touching his cheek. A rumbling sound comes from deep in his throat, and I hate how it builds my longing for all the things he listed.
“I wish things were different,” I say, fighting the urge to give in to temptation and press my mouth against his, let his arms take me in, his fingers grasp at my back, pulling me into his chest so tightly I can’t breathe.
“Me too,” he says, watching my lips, fighting the same demons that I am.
“But they’re not,” I say, stating what we already know and removing my hand.
“No, they’re not,” he agrees, shuffling far enough away that a cool wind chills the pool of heat that had gathered between us.
“Goodbye, Father Patrick,” I say, putting out my hand formally. He takes it.
“Goodbye, Miss Branson,” he returns. We shake and then we reluctantly let go. I run to the waiting car like I’m being chased by the devil himself.
Turning my eyes downward, I stare at the glittering three-carat diamond ring my grandfather supposedly gave to my grandmother. I once asked her how he’d afforded such a fancy ring when he was reportedly such a humble man. She said it was a family heirloom, which meant it didn’t really belong to her, but it belonged to the next generation and the generation after that. I take it off and slip it onto the ring finger of my right hand.
Why did I only feel worthy enough to wear this ring when a man gave it to me? I wonder.
As the car carries me away, I turn around in my seat for one more look at Father Patrick, at Edinburgh, and at Holy Trinity. Patrick stands in front of the church where I left him, but his eyes are no longer cast up toward the steeple, the cross, or heaven itself. Instead, he, in his black shirt and slacks, head bowed low and buried in his hands, is gradually swallowed up by the darkness.
It’s better this way. For both of us.
CHAPTER 34
Vivian
Sunday, October 17, 1943
Camp Atterbury
“Vivian! Is that you?” Judy jumps to her feet behind the glass partition and leans against the desk to get a better look, and I know why. I’ve been away for four months, and I’m returning a different woman from when I first walked into this office six months ago.
My two-piece crimson Adele Simpson dress and blue felt hat with a wide brim are newer additions to my wardrobe, along with the matching wool polo coat draped over my shoulders. Archie says it’s important to always look the part of a star even if you aren’t in front of the camera because you never know who’s looking. USO Camp Shows provides all our stage costumes, but for meet and greets and dances, we’re expected to supply our own wardrobe. Most girls use their whole paycheck to fund the glamorous look Archie encourages. But I’ve been sending my paycheck home.
Judy bursts into the lobby as I’m stuffing my gloves into my envelope purse. As she wraps me in an intense embrace, I take a brief glance at the hallway that first led me to my new life. I had no idea where things would lead back then—but I’m sure the six-months-ago me would be proud of my dress choice at least, even if she might not be as impressed with some of my other decisions.
“When I heard you and Tom ran off and got married and then you were chosen for the Camp Shows, I about lost my mind with envy. Now you’re back and all elegant and polished. And look at that ring!” She picks up my left hand. I’m not wearing the tin one Tom gave me here on base. I save that one for when I’m on the road or when I’m home with papà, playing the role of a good wife. He knows of my elopement. I told him as soon as the officers started coming around looking for Tom. Our marriage was legal and binding, so of course they’d question me first.
Tom’s been AWOL for four months, and there’s still an investigation as far as I know. I’ve had several conversations with the military police. They finally seem to believe I’m not helping him hide out somewhere to avoid being deployed.
His family’s paid to keep it out of the papers and ignored any evidence of his marriage to me, an unknown country bumpkin. They blame me, I’m sure, for his disappearance, which is only fair. Going AWOL two days after a secret wedding looks a lot like buyer’s remorse. So far, I’ve stayed away from the Highwards, and they’ve stayed away from me, and that’s been working fine. I don’t think I could face them, anyway. Not with how things ended between me and Tom. What I did.